


The Kingslayer's Whore

by Lady_in_Red



Series: The Lion of Lannister [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 6, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: Jaime learns who really holds him and what they intend to do with him.





	

Jaime should have known this merry band of brigands didn't answer to the Hound. Given the choice, Clegane had always preferred solitude, but now he rode with the Brotherhood Without Banners, the same men who’d harried the Lannister forces early in the war, striking and fading back into the forest before the Mountain could find them. 

The ransom idea was Beric Dondarrion’s, and he had no intention of returning Jaime to King’s Landing. Lord Beric and his men thought that Jon Snow would pay them handsomely for the chance to deliver justice for his father. No one seemed to care that Jaime had not killed Ned Stark, only his captain of guards. 

Jaime had not known Dondarion well, but he remembered Beric as an eager young lordling, not this hardened one-eyed warrior. Jaime almost admired him for turning a ragged group of lowborn thieves, deserters, and farmers into a force that stood against Lord Tywin Lannister. 

At Lord Beric’s side stood Thoros of Myr, his days carousing with Robert long past. The red priest was still a drunk, but now his eyes shone with the fervor of belief. He’d converted the entire Brotherhood to the worship of R’hlorr, reminding Jaime far too much of the High Sparrow and his mindless flock.  

The Brotherhood did have ravens, as Jaime learned when he was dragged out of his cell and into a decaying barn. A makeshift desk waited for him there, quill and parchment at the ready. Thoros told him to draft a lie his men would believe, though Dondarrion scoffed that they wouldn't care what excuse he gave as long as they were allowed to return south before their balls fell off from the cold. 

Jaime was left alone to his work, his shackled feet guaranteeing he couldn’t outrun the two guards just outside the doors. The Brotherhood were not well-trained, since the guards kept talking to each other, distracting Jaime as he laboriously attempted to write with his left hand. 

He’d managed two lines when one guard noted, “There she goes again.”

“Who?” 

“The Kingslayer’s whore. Been prowling ‘round like a shadow cat since they took him out of his cell.”

The quill dug so hard into the parchment that it tore. He’d never so much as laid eyes on his guard, yet Jaime itched to shove the quill through the man’s eye.

“Why don't she just go in?”

The first guard lowered his voice, but not enough to prevent Jaime from hearing every word. “She ain’t allowed. Lord Beric never did trust her. Tom ‘o Sevens told Lord Beric that he saw ‘er in the Lannister camp at Riverrun. Heard her squire and Lannister’s man talkin’ about how the big bitch was fucking the Kingslayer. Well, Clegane caught her sneaking out of his cell last night.”

“So why ain’t they both locked up now?”  

“How would I know? Now shut yer mouth before the bitch comes back. Looks mad enough to rip a man’s bollocks clean off, that one does.”

The first guard might not realize how far his voice carried, but he wasn’t stupid. Jaime had watched Brienne slide a sword slowly into a man’s gut to make sure he suffered as he died, and that had been to avenge a trio of tavern wenches she’d never even met. 

Jaime took a new sheet of parchment and returned to his message, even more convinced that he must send his soldiers south. A pointless show of good faith for Jon Snow, essentially meaningless with a Targaryen army in the south and two queens who wouldn’t take kindly to a bastard boy claiming one of their kingdoms. But if Dondarrion went to Winterfell painting Brienne as a traitor, Sansa Stark could easily turn on her, leaving her at Jon Snow’s mercy. Jaime doubted the boy had anything for traitors but a block and a sharp blade. 

> _ Ser Addam Marbrand, _
> 
> _ Fall back to Darry. The queen may have need of you. Await further instructions from the crown or myself. If my sister demands aid, do not wait for me. Return south at speed.  _
> 
> _ Lord Jaime Lannister _

Jaime set his seal to the parchment and wondered what Bronn would think of the army returning to his door. No doubt he’d expect a fat purse of gold for his trouble.  

 

* * *

  
Jaime heard the men snickering as they set up a single red tent near the center of camp, garish against the muted greens and browns of the other tents. He thought it must be Dondarrion’s until he saw Podrick bringing his lady’s things into the tent. 

As her squire, normally Pod would share that tent with Brienne, but Lord Beric had insisted Pod stay with the Hound. Dondarrion said that Pod was a man grown, it was no longer proper for him to share a tent with a lady, and he wasn’t wrong. Jaime hadn’t paid the boy much attention when he’d left King’s Landing with Brienne, and Pod had spent all his time in the Lannister camp with Bronn. 

Now Jaime could see at a glance that the squire was older than Jaime had been when he was knighted. Dark stubble shadowed Podrick’s jaw, and he was taller and broader than he’d been that long-ago day on the Kingsroad. Another child who’d come of age during the war, with eyes that had seen too much in a face creased with worry. A man who did not look on Brienne as a woman. Anyone could see that. Podrick’s separation from Brienne was a punishment for letting Brienne into Jaime’s cell. The boy knew it. They all did.

As Podrick left the tent, likely stolen from the siege of Riverrun, Jaime realized that the tent was not the only oddity in camp. There was no post to tether him to, no cage to hold him. Instead he was hauled up by one bound arm and shoved unceremoniously into the red tent. Inside, a stake had been driven into the ground beside a large pallet, and a chain fixed to his left wrist as soon as his freezing arms were released from their bindings.

The pallet was the only bed. 

Even as Jaime privately cursed Dondarrion, he had to admit that the lightning lord was savvy. He’d concocted a sweet torture for Jaime and a humiliation for Brienne. For that Jaime wanted to strangle the man, slowly, though from what his men said Lord Beric had a nasty habit of refusing to stay dead. Superstition and nonsense, no doubt, but effective in binding desperate men to his cause.

Jaime had just finished a cold supper of bread and cheese when Brienne swept in. A scowl twisted her face when she saw the bed, saw Jaime chained to it. Her shoulders slumped as her gaze took in the rest of the tent. Neither of them could spend the night on the frozen ground, and the tent lacked even a chair to rest in. She turned on her heel and left, but she didn’t go far.

Jaime heard her argument with Thoros of Myr and the Hound. “You’re so eager to look after him, you can guard him all night,” Clegane rasped. “And if he overpowers you, the whole camp will hear it.”

The leer in his voice was obvious even from afar. If anything happened in that tent, they would all know: the Brotherhood, the Hound, and Arya Stark. Plenty of witnesses to testify to Brienne’s collusion with the enemy when they reached Winterfell.  

“Sleep well, my lady,” Thoros said with mock deference. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

Brienne returned to the tent with her jaw held so tight she might break teeth. She did not speak, merely turned her back on Jaime and began the laborious process of taking off her armor. 

“I’d offer a hand with that, but…” Jaime rattled his chain. 

She looked back over her shoulder and glared. “I don’t need help. Sleep.” 

Jaime watched as she removed her sword belt, noticed how she hung the sword from a hook out of his reach. He ought to remain silent, but he couldn’t help himself. “Those men are nothing, Brienne. Don’t listen to them.”

Her pauldrons slipped off, one by one. Her fingers made deft work of the ties and her breastplate followed. “You think I care what they call me? Men have called me names all my life. I care that they question my loyalty. That everyone does.”

Jaime hadn’t seen her without armor since she left King’s Landing. Both breeches and gambeson were travel-worn, one sleeve badly stitched to close the slash of a blade. Brienne looked oddly vulnerable. Stripped. 

“Is that why you offered me the sword?” he asked, wondering for the first time if there was more to her misplaced attempt to return his gift.

She swiped a hand over her face. She looked exhausted. “Lady Sansa and Arya both refused my help. Ramsay Bolton did unspeakable things to Sansa, and Arya...” 

“Arya killed Walder Frey. And a Kingsguard.” The grim satisfaction she seemed to find in those murders was unsettling even to Jaime.

Brienne dragged a stool close to him and sat, deftly removing her boots. “I know. The Hound told me there were others, too.” 

Talk of the Starks reminded Jaime of the trial he would almost certainly face. Ned Stark’s bastard had promised him safe passage through the North. He’d never promised that Jaime would return south. Perhaps the bastard was not as honorable as his father. Perhaps he’d actually learned something in the Night’s Watch. Jaime had plenty of time to brood on the possibilities later. 

Jaime pulled back the furs draped across the pallet. “Rest, my lady. We have a long journey ahead.”

Brienne’s gaze flicked uncertainly between the pallet and the tent walls moving back and forth in the frigid wind. “Why are you so easy about this?”

Jaime took a deep breath. Neither had acknowledged what he’d said in his cell, nor the tension that had hung thickly between them ever since. “I have one hand, and it’s chained to the ground. Tell me, Brienne, is it me you distrust or yourself?”

Brienne’s face hardened, taking on that mulish look he’d so enjoyed provoking in their early days together. Now he welcomed it only because it spurred her to prove him wrong. She unlaced her gambeson and added it to the pile of discarded armor, leaving her shivering in breeches and tunic. Brienne settled stiffly on the pallet, her broad back a mountain at his side, and pulled the furs over them both.

If Dondarrion’s men spied outside, hoping for cries of passion or a glimpse of bared skin, they were disappointed. Jaime surrendered to sleep content, basking in the strange, simple pleasure of sharing Brienne’s warmth, his breathing and hers finding the same rhythm as the fire burned low. 

 


End file.
